Rogue was here
by allyg1990
Summary: They never told Remy that this had been her room. He thinks that if they had told him, he might have thought twice before accepting it. Oneshot, implied ROMY.


They never told him that this had been _her _room. He thinks that if they had told him, he might have thought twice before accepting it.

***

"Gambit?"

He turned to the Professor, his new guardian and future father figure. "_Oui, professeur?_"

The man hesitated, and it seemed to Remy that he was gripping the armrests of his silver wheelchair just a little tighter. "As I told you, we only have one free room. You are welcome to share with one of the other students if you wish—"

"Dat won't be necessary," he interrupted. The Professor inclined his head.

"The room you have been allocated—it belonged to one of our students who recently…" The Professor swallowed hard, an odd action for the old man. "…who recently passed on."

Remy fell silent for a moment. "'M sorry fo' y' loss."

Xavier tried to smile. "Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done." The wheels of the electric chair whirred, setting the vehicle in motion down the carpeted corridor. Remy had no trouble keeping up, but his morbid curiosity was harder to control.

"Cancer?"

The whirring paused; the telepath turned to the thief, his eyes searching for something in the younger man's face. "No," he said slowly. "Her powers were difficult to control. Her mind… it turned on itself, and her body followed soon afterwards."

Remy considered this for a few moments. It sounded like an unpleasant way to die, and a terrible thing for the other students to endure—but "She?" was all he asked, in the vain hope that the Professor would offer him some clarification.

Xavier misunderstood the intention behind his question. "I wouldn't worry; she was never one to indulge in pink decoration." And with that, he left Remy alone and slowly receded down the winding hallway.

The door slid open with a practiced ease, and Remy found that his new mentor had been right. The room was painted an odd dark green, not exactly ideal, but good enough for now. The furniture was new and glossy, the bedspread a generic sky blue, probably brought in especially for the new kid. The only relic left over from the previous inhabitant (apart, of course, from the moss-green walls) was the hardwood bed frame, which had a used look to it. A thief could always tell.

He allowed himself to fall back onto the bed, his duffel bag forgotten on the floor. Instead of closing his eyes, however, he left them open, scanning first the ceiling and then letting his eyes fall to examine the nearest bedpost. He froze.

There was a name inscribed there, and a message, carved into the hardwood with an unskilled hand—or perhaps the jerky movements of an invalid.

_Rogue was here._

Now he lay on his new mattress, half clothed fingers tracing the indented letters. _Rogue was here._

Rogue.

He remembered that name, though he had only met its owner twice. First during the sentinel affair—she was the pretty _fille_ he had slipped a charged card to. She'd given him the oddest look then; half confused, half elated, and he still couldn't interpret the meaning behind it.

The second time had been when he was hanging around outside Bayville High. She'd walked right up to him, hands firmly on her hips, and demanded to know what he was doing there. He didn't remember what he said; had he warned her? Tried to charm her? Either would be equally likely. He only knew that he had seen something intriguing in her eyes, something he hoped to follow up on. But he missed his chance, and now he lay on what used to be her bed, pensive about a friendship that had been nipped in the bud.

He'd known that she wasn't living at the institute anymore; he hadn't seen her during any of his spying stints. He'd assumed that she had moved out, or perhaps gone to visit relatives. Never would he have guessed that she was long gone, as lost to him as she was to the rest of the world.

They never told him that this had been _her _room. If they'd told him, he might have thought twice before accepting it.

It was because he realized that this would never be his room—it would stay hers forever. Even if he painted the walls and removed her parting message, this room had seen her life—and her death.

Suddenly the prospect of a person having died in his new room didn't scare him; somehow, it put things into perspective. If it became too hard, he could move out, go share with Piotr, but then they might paint over the walls, discard the bed frame for good. Rogue's last words—her somehow desperate request to be remembered—would be lost forever.

He didn't want that. Nor did he want anyone else to see the words, scratched into the wood. He had never had time to have a conversation with the girl, let alone charm her like he would have liked to, but maybe this way he could retain some small, sacred connection with her, even though he was too late.

***

There is a knock at the door—he almost springs to his feet, but stops himself just in time. A light brunette head peeks in without even opening the door.

"Gamb—uh, Remy?"

It takes longer than usual for his trademark grin to arrive as he sits up. "_Oui, chaton?_"

She doesn't reply. Her jaw is set, and her big blue eyes dart from side to side, taking in the seemingly changed appearance of the room. Her lip quivers, and something twists in Remy's stomach. Will he be the only one who can stand to be in here without feeling the intense pain that comes from the loss of a friend?

"Kitty?" The name sounds unfamiliar on his tongue; he doesn't think he's ever said her name before. The phaser snaps out of her trance.

"Um, sorry. It's just still—hard." She laughs, but it's forced. "They've taken down the posters."

Remy glances at the wall Kitty's staring at, and notices for the first time that there are a few pale splotches where tape has peeled some of the paint.

Has her presence here faded so much already?

"Gosh, I haven't even gotten to my point yet. Look, dinner's in five minutes, and the Professor wants you to be there. We all eat together in the evening."

He nods, just once, and doesn't say another word. Kitty stares expectantly for a moment and then slips out as silently as she came in.

He leans back again, propping himself up with his elbows. His fingers return to the wood, sliding back and forth, as if he were a blind man and the rise and fall of the little notches held a meaning for him.

Maybe they will begin to forget—people often do, to save themselves from being ripped apart by pain day after day. He will not forget. He has never been one to disobey a dying person's wishes, and her unwritten plea rings clearly from the three words she etched into the wood.

_Rogue was here._

He will remember her.


End file.
